Then this picture of Dorian Grey
Frays as his
Tattered foretold-you-sos laying across the writing desk and
Scattered across a life as
Dull as death, wait for
The capricious rains of saintly sanity that never come, though he is
Yet free to roam with oil skin and bound leather through
This world of fortune cookie gypsy
Dreams and sad goodbyes
Hanging in the window like the wooden hummingbird frozen in flight
Motionless over the dust covered room and pictures that
Never age, into a sunset that sets on him,
Bit by bitter bit
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem